


my love laid bare for all to see

by Ripki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Break Up, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Guilt, Infidelity, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Relationship Reveal, Secret Relationship, Smut, obikin endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripki/pseuds/Ripki
Summary: They have gotten bolder with time, pushing each other into shadowy nooks, slipping inside unoccupied tents and dark gunships, so Anakin does not think, he just acts because want is quickening his pulse. He cannot know that months from now, it will be this act – him shoving Obi-Wan against an alley wall – that changes everything.Or Obi-Wan and Anakin before and after the whole galaxy learns of their secret relationship.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 41
Kudos: 382
Collections: SW Especially Satisfying Stories





	my love laid bare for all to see

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely AO3 user kingscrown has translated this work to Italian. It can be found [here](https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3958537).

__

_caught _

When it happens, Obi-Wan is in his quarters in the Jedi Temple, on day two of his weeklong leave from the front lines. Against his usual habit, he has turned on the HoloNet News – the small apartment being suddenly too quiet –, happening to catch the breaking news report. It turns out to be footage from a Tarisian security holocamera. There is no sound, and the images are somewhat grainy, even after an obvious clean-up, but it is clear to all and sundry who is in it and what they are doing.

Obi-Wan has to sit down, his heart thudding so painfully it will surely burst from his chest. He thinks about Anakin, if he and Padmé are watching the same broadcast or if they are still blissfully unaware, too caught up in each other to bother with the news. Otherwise his mind is blank. He thinks he might be in shock.

__

_ choice _

It begins like this: Anakin’s heavy hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his sweaty brow slowly dipping to meet Obi-Wan’s. Behind them is another harsh, bloody battlefield, with too many dying and dead. Another near-death experience, the terror of it still too familiar and real, a sharp stench in the air. Anakin’s eyes are a bottomless pool of need and relief, mirrored in Obi-Wan’s gaze. Every warm breath, every blossoming bruise, every beat of a heart is a chant of affirmation: we are here – we are alive – we are together.

Obi-Wan’s fingers come to tangle in Anakin’s hair, drawing him closer still, and it feels inevitable. Their lips touch first lightly, then hungrily, and it feels necessary. And yet they both know it is a choice. They are choosing to seek solace from each other; they are choosing to comfort each other in this most intimate, carnal way. They are choosing to betray the Jedi Code and their vows to the Order. They are choosing to break their fidelity to Padmé – Anakin as her husband and Obi-Wan as her friend.

They are choosing to take everything they are and have ever been to each other and twist it into something new, something untested and dangerous. It’s not easy, every piece in them being rearranged into a new configuration, bending out of familiar shape. But it feels good. It _is_ good. It is what saves them in that moment, when tomorrow is only a distant maybe, too far away to reach for.

_ _

_ silence _

Padmé is looking at him, uncomprehending, aghast. For once, she seems lost for words. Anakin too doesn’t know what to say, filled with incredulous horror. He can’t believe what has happened, that such a little thing – a hazy, carefree night, for once happy and devoid of death, already months in the past – is what damns him and Obi-Wan. Does his former Master already know? Anakin is suddenly too afraid to open his shields to seek him out through their bond.

The holocaster lies mangled between them, broken beyond repair, the HNN reporters’ gleeful commentary silenced by Anakin’s scorching fit of anger. _Oh my, the Jedi really do commit to doing everything exceptionally well._ The mocking words still ring in his ears, merciless. _But seriously though, what consequences do you see for the Jedi Order, besides the embarrassment of two of their finest being caught with their pants down – in this instance quite literally?_

Anakin is suddenly acutely aware that they are alone in the apartment, the handmaidens sent to elsewhere and even Threepio shut down to ensure an intimate, romantic evening. The evidence of their earlier activities is now a painful remainder of how the galaxy has turned upside down in a matter of minutes: the remains of a homemade dinner left on the table, Anakin’s cloak carelessly thrown on the chair, the sofa cushions in disarray from their eager foreplay.

Padmé’s eyes fasten on the sofa, and Anakin knows what she thinks, for he is thinking the same thing. He kissed her there with fervour, and with those same lips that pressed into hers, Anakin kissed Obi-Wan. With these same hands that he caressed her with, he touched Obi-Wan too, sought the place deep within that made him moan. Anakin dropped to his knees for her, and he did the same eagerly for Obi-Wan, and he met both their gazes with want in his eyes, heart beating in a rhythm of their name.

The one thing that is still hers alone are the words, whispered ardently into her ear, mouthed against her damp skin. _I love you._ He struggles to say them now, to reaffirm his devotion, but the syllables don’t come out fast enough. She speaks first. _Why? How long? How could you?_

Anakin does not have any answers to give. He never did.

_ _

_ enough _

After the first few weeks of frantically learning each other’s bodies anew, the question clamouring in Obi-Wan’s mind finally spills out, stills the air between them. _What is this?_

Anakin just shrugs his shoulders, going back to lavishing hot kisses on Obi-Wan’s cheek, neck, collarbone. He savours the taste, breathes deep the heady scent, well-known yet somehow unfamiliar again in this thrilling new context. _This is us._

Obi-Wan’s forehead crinkles in a way that Anakin does not like, although his hand continues to map the scars on Anakin’s back, never faltering from the gentle exploration. Anakin swoops to claim his mouth, warding off any words that might ruin the moment, distracting Obi-Wan with deep and long kisses, again and again. He wants to drive any lingering doubts away with his living body, with the vividness and velocity of his racing heart, with the strength and resoluteness of his hold.

Obi-Wan sighs into his mouth, his body going pliant under Anakin. The surrender is only temporary, Anakin knows, a purposeful relinquishing of reality, of tomorrow. There is only now, and every stroke of tongue keeps their lungs breathing, every press of fingers keeps their blood pumping, every touch of skin keeps their thoughts sane. _This_ is them, how they are now. It’s enough.

_ _

_ alone _

Obi-Wan has never been so uncomfortable, so mortified, so afraid, to stand in front of the Council. He faces them alone. Anakin is not there, and he can’t decide if it is a blessing or a curse. His peers – his friends – are all looking at him like Obi-Wan is a stranger to them, their hard gazes judging, weighing his worth, his integrity now in question like it never was before.

How could he have done this? Broken the Code, deceived them all, brought shame to the Order? With his former Padawan no less – just how long has it been going on? Does the obvious power balance mean nothing to him, the insurmountable gulf between their respective positions and ages, the danger of unseemly _attachment_?

Obi-Wan’s cheeks burn from mortification, blood rushing in his ears. He is so ashamed. And yet – he is angry too, resentful. He is being scolded like a child, looked at like a criminal, thought of as a problem, an embarrassment. But the thing is, they are not wrong. They are not asking anything Obi-Wan has not already asked himself a thousand times. The guilt makes his limbs unwieldy, his mind frozen. It’s hard to think of anything to say in defence of himself, so he does not.

Anakin’s turn is next. He is pale, his lips a thin severe line and eyes red rimmed, as he passes Obi-Wan in the foyer. They do not speak to each other. Uncertainly, Obi-Wan hovers near the doors, waiting, not really knowing why. Far too soon Anakin rushes out, black anger raging around him like a heavy, oppressive storm. He doesn’t look at Obi-Wan; he leaves the Temple and doesn’t come back for four days.

_ _

_ heat _

Anakin tackles Obi-Wan to the hard durasteel floor, hands already everywhere, tugging Obi-Wan’s tabards aside, trying to yank his tunic off. Obi-Wan fights to free his arms from the garment, ripping the fabric in his haste. Anakin laughs, clever fingers snaking inside Obi-Wan’s trousers, his hold on Obi-Wan’s stiffening prick sure and entitled, a scalding brand. The room is cold, but Anakin burns like a furnace, Obi-Wan easily caught in the blaze. He draws Anakin to his chest, silences the laughter with a none too gentle kiss.

_ _

_ shame _

After crawling from bar to bar, from illegal racing competition to the next, Anakin stumbles to Padmé’s apartment on the eve of the third day of his self-imposed exile, heavily drunk and tired to the bone. He ends up begging for her to let him in – back into her rooms, into her life, into her bed.

 _How can I trust you again?_ She asks, sad and bitter.

 _It meant nothing. He means nothing compared to you,_ Anakin claims. The lie tastes like bile, burning his throat on the way up. He feels more ashamed now than he did watching himself with the rest of the galaxy, on his knees in a dirty alley, sucking his former Master’s cock.

He tries again, one last desperate push against her ironclad will, her soft heart. _I need you. I love you so much._ The galaxy has tilted sideways, every once surety now uncertain. He just wants things – people – to be as they were.

 _No, you don’t,_ Padmé says, shaking her head. _You just think you do._ The hardest thing is that her voice is understanding, resigned. Hurt shadows her eyes, but she has already decided how all of it is going to go, taking back control with steely will.

It’s easy for her, Anakin thinks resentfully. She is not the laughing stock of both the Republic and the Confederacy, no one is looking at her like she is lower than the dirt beneath their shoes. He mumbles, _I guess the secrecy part of this marriage comes really handy now, huh? Easy to pretend we never were together at all._

After that, there is nothing left to say. Magnanimously, she lets him sleep on the couch. In the early hours of the morning, Anakin slinks out of the apartment before anyone else is awake, knowing he won’t be back there in a long while, if ever.

_ _

_ still _

First time Obi-Wan pushes into Anakin, time comes to a standstill, the galaxy halts its mad rush towards self-immolation. Anakin’s eyes are wide and dazed and deep, a pathway for Obi-Wan to follow. His mechanical fingers clutch at Obi-Wan’s hip, burrowing into bone and sinew, leaving a mark like a commemorative tattoo, drawing him deeper still.

 _This_ , Obi-Wan thinks, the most secret part of him – the one where his love lives – so full it’s overflowing, and yet so calm. _This, I will die to keep._

The singular stillness explodes into motion; into a heady action tinted with possessive force, intermitted with spells of sweet slowness. They rock and thrust and grind and slide, flush against one another, hearts racing in the same furious rhythm. They surge and sink and soar and merge – tighter – closer – deeper. Between ravenous, messy kisses, there are only inarticulate sounds of pleasure and surprise, the beginning of a name. Breathless moans and gravelly groans that near the edge of a confession, murmurs of hopeless adoration.

After, they rest in a tangled embrace, foreheads pressed against one another. Anakin’s heart beats strong and steady, his gaze impossibly tender as he brushes away something wet from Obi-Wan’s cheek.

_ _

_ punishment _

The Council debates. Some of the councillors suggest they should claim the footage was doctored by the Separatists. Some say they should not be made to explain anything to the hungry public; it is an internal matter and should stay inside the Order. Others argue that they cannot be anything but wholly transparent, as there is already too much distrust against the Jedi.

In the end, it boils down to this: Obi-Wan and Anakin are needed for the war. The public won’t understand expulsion from the Order, not for something they see as just a lack of discretion. It’s hardly treason to kriff your comrade in arms, albeit be it unfittingly in front of a recording holocamera. However, some punishment must be given, to set an example to the other Jedi, to lead the transgressors back to the right path.

The Council decides. Obi-Wan will lose his seat on the Council. Anakin and Obi-Wan will both reaffirm their vows and their commitment to the Order. They will not work together again.

_ _

_ reckless _

They have gotten bolder with time, pushing each other into shadowy nooks, slipping inside unoccupied tents and dark gunships, so Anakin does not think, he just acts because want is quickening his pulse, rushing in his blood like a battle cry. They are fresh out of an easy victory, the Seps blockading Taris blown into atoms, their own men alive to celebrate their kills, their survival. They are drunk with easy camaraderie and potent Tarisian wine, leaning against each other as they head for their lodgings.

Anakin’s want is a fierce and wild thing, keenly felt. He cannot wait, so he steers them into a dim alley, shoving Obi-Wan against the nearest wall. The few token protests are said with the dry, teasing tone that never fails to make Anakin throb; Obi-Wan falls completely silent when Anakin drops down to his knees.

He makes quick work of the fastenings of Obi-Wan’s trousers, opening them just enough that he can draw the rapidly hardening prick out. Without preamble, Anakin seals his lips over the head, sliding the whole length of Obi-Wan’s cock into his mouth. There’s a bitten-off gasp from above him, the wrecked sound settling beneath his sternum, the memory of it evermore a warm spot right beside Anakin’s heart. Obi-Wan’s gloved hand settles on Anakin’s head, fingers tangling in the too-long strands of hair.

After Anakin has swallowed Obi-Wan’s come, has licked him clean, their gazes meet. Obi-Wan, eyes half-lidded, is looking at him in awe. Like Anakin is something wondrous and bright, everything he has never dared to want. He pulls Anakin up, gaze unwavering, thumb coming to trace the sharp line of Anakin’s cheekbone. Obi-Wan only has to rub the aching bulge of Anakin’s rock-hard erection, once and twice, nuzzle the curve of his neck, and Anakin too is done, sagging into his best friend’s arms, sated and so, so happy.

_ _

_ lie _

Obi-Wan is already in the naval docs, striding towards his ship, Cody and his battalion waiting, when Anakin intercepts him. The hand landing on his shoulder is a vice, yanking Obi-Wan to an abrupt halt. Anakin’s eyes are dark and smouldering, barely suppressed anger rattling its cage like a snarling beast, clamouring to get free.

 _You’re just going to accept this?_ Anakin’s voice is hard, unforgiving. The harsh lines of his mouth do not resemble at all the soft lips Obi-Wan kissed just a mere week ago.

 _What else is there to do?_ Obi-Wan sighs, weary to his marrow. He is tired of the censure, of the self-doubt, of the guilt. Tired of the looks that follow him everywhere – disapproving, critical, pitying, prying. The clones passing them by at least have the good sense to avert their eyes, to pretend they hear nothing.

Anakin’s bark of laughter is hollow, devoid of any cheer or humour or affection. _Kriffing isn’t a crime – it’s not even against the Code, however much the Council likes to pretend that we are all celibate. It should be nobody’s business what we do in private._

 _It’s not that._ The words come out firm, although everything inside Obi-Wan is shaking, rattling apart.

 _Then what? Say it!_ Anakin howls, desperate fury clawing at Obi-Wan’s shields, demanding that he open up his chest, dig through the flesh and bone, lay bare the wounded softness beneath.

Obi-Wan cannot twine his arms around Anakin’s neck, cannot press his face against the hollow of his throat. He cannot kiss the hot anger out of him, cannot whisper _It’s this_. Cannot soothe the hurt away from that beloved face, cannot confess _This, I would kill to keep._ He cannot say the truth, so he says nothing, realizing too late that the silence is as deadly a lie as any false words he could have said.

Anakin’s grip loosens, his hand falls away. Obi-Wan is free, and yet he yearns for that burning touch. _You’re right. There is nothing else to do._ Anakin sounds defeated, cold and far away. There is already a galaxy between them, yawning and endless and empty.

And when the stars streak past in the lonely hour, which is every hour, when the blackness of space collapses into more darkness, it’s Anakin’s gaze, it’s Anakin’s touch, it’s Anakin’s last words that echo in Obi-Wan relentlessly.

 _Obi-Wan, may the Force be with you._ It’s said softly, yet it still sounds like a curse.

_ _

_ bruise _

The bruise is just settling under Obi-Wan’s skin, ready to bloom, when Anakin makes his excuses. They both pretend he has business with the troops; they both know it’s his scheduled time to contact Padmé.

Alone again, Obi-Wan gets dressed methodically, puts himself back together piece by piece, smooths the hair that careless fingers have mussed. He sits at his desk, mountain of paperwork waiting. The letters blur into a black smudge; he presses hard against the emerging mark on his thigh, lets the ache bring the world back to sharper focus.

As he works, he keeps his hand on the bruised skin, and does not think about what Anakin and Padmé are saying to each other; does not imagine what declarations of love pass between them.

_ _

_ hollow _

Time turns; the war marches on in an endless circle of death. Victory and defeat follow each other, merging into one, slowly losing all meaning. There is only the fight for tomorrow, the futile struggle to live. Even hollow, Anakin’s heart beats.

It’s easy first, for there is the ravenous rage, the wrathful hate, filling all the deserted places in him. Spaces that he shared with another and that are now void and sore, throbbing with emptiness. Anger against the Council – _who are they to judge him, to separate him and Obi-Wan_ – against Padmé – _how could she just end everything they were to one another with one impersonal coldly official document_ – against Obi-Wan – _always following the Council’s decisions without protest, leaving Anakin_ – even against the Chancellor – _his cloying sympathy making Anakin grit his teeth, his suggestion that Anakin is better off without Obi-Wan intolerable_ – against the enemy – _killing and maiming and torturing_ –

But it turns out that even Anakin’s fury can burn itself out; it coils inward, scorching all he treasured so carefully, staining everything with soot and ash, leaving him empty. In dreams, there is now a bitter twist to Obi-Wan’s smile, a hard edge to his soft expression, clear doubt in his ardent gaze. Kisses that tasted like promises are now tinted with lack of belief, hands touch only to withdraw, their bodies surge into one another only to separate again.

In dreams, they come together only to part, and even hollow, Anakin’s heart aches.

_ _

_ wish _

Slowly, carefully, the _Resolute_ descends and glides towards its berth, more a living thing than a mass of metal and wire. The engines pulse around Anakin, their steady thrum in concert with his own heart. Coruscant spreads beneath, perpetually in motion, its people in continuous struggle for something better, striving ever higher. They have been promised a whole week at home, and Padmé is already waiting for him. Anakin glances at Obi-Wan, who stands beside him, almost at an attention. He looks to be somewhere else, somewhere far away.

They leave the ship together, walking side by side. A nervous anticipation is coiling in the pit of Anakin’s stomach, making him prattle inanely about the modifications he’ll do to Threepio’s programming, what foods he’ll gobble first, how he’ll not think about anything war-related the whole week. At that last one, the corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth twitch upwards, clearly stating his disbelief.

Anakin is just about to launch his volley of banter, when Obi-Wan tugs him aside, into the cover of stacked up cargo containers. His back has barely settled against the hard metal, and Obi-Wan’s lips are already pressing against his, steadfast and overwhelming. Anakin groans, everything else forgotten but the tantalizing swipe of tongues, the brazen way Obi-Wan licks the inside of his mouth, splays his warm hand at the back of Anakin’s neck, a silent vow that anchors Anakin into his arms.

He thinks, _I wish I could kiss you out there, for all to see_. For once, he is certain Obi-Wan is wishing the same thing.

_ _

_ truth _

It requires everything to go spectacularly pear-shaped for Anakin and Obi-Wan to be in the same star system, let alone on the same planet, again. The current campaign has been too bloody from the start, but Obi-Wan and his troops plod faithfully along, until they can’t. Everything that can go wrong goes wrong, and they find themselves under siege, pushed to the brink of annihilation. It takes the certainty of crushing defeat, of Obi-Wan begging for any assistance for his men, for the Council to bend from their rigid stubbornness and send the closest battalion – Anakin’s – to help.

When the ships of the 501st hit atmo, when their engines scream wrathfully overhead, Obi-Wan almost weeps from relief, from bitter joy. His men – the ones that are still left – will be saved. Anakin is somewhere above, closer than he has been in months, and if he had the power, Obi-Wan would reach out and pull Anakin from the sky to him, just to see those bright eyes, touch that longed-for smile.

Maybe he does have the power, for later – after time has slipped away, the haze of cold obscurity settling in – Anakin’s face appears over him. The blue of his eyes is dimmed from fear, his brow and cheeks taut with worry, his lips mouthing words Obi-Wan cannot hear. Blackness encroaches at the edges of his vision, but he refuses to lose sight of Anakin. All those times Obi-Wan had him, he never should have closed his eyes even for a moment. He never should have let go.

This is not the reunion Obi-Wan wished for in his most cherished, secret dreams. Instead facing Anakin in the stillness of his room or in the tranquillity of the gardens, Obi-Wan is bleeding out in the mud, body broken and bent into an unnatural shape. Pain is a distant thing, already fading into a more terrifying numbness, but it blooms again, searing and hot, when Anakin touches him; Obi-Wan welcomes it gladly. Sound rushes in, a sudden roar that resembles a desperate chant of his own name, _Obi-Wan Obi-Wan Master Obi-Wan_.

After a monumental struggle, Obi-Wan manages to lift his fingers enough to graze one rough cheek, leaving behind a smudge of something dark on Anakin’s skin. He tries to say, _it’s alright. Don’t be afraid. This – this, I will live to keep._

_ _

_ tomorrow _

Or perhaps, it truly begins like this: they are strolling among the crowded market stalls, the hustle and bustle of a mid-morning bazaar in full swing. It’s almost overwhelming in its lively intensity: the sounds – shouts and laughter, bartering and chitchat – the smells – pungent and sweet, subtle and sharp – the sights – every colour, everything moving – and they have to remind themselves that this is normal now, this vibrant peace.

Anakin, ever mindful of Obi-Wan’s bad leg, slows his steps, remembering that there’s no hurry. They have all the time they want. The sun is blazing down on them, the heat burrowing deep, warming every part long accustomed to the coldness of space. A sudden flock of people swarm them, and Anakin snags hold of the sleeve of Obi-Wans tunic, twines his fingers around Obi-Wan’s wrist. They’ll never be lost to each other now, but Anakin still likes to make sure, feel the flesh and the bone beneath his hand; a tangible thing, a reaffirmation that grounds and settles.

They come to a halt there, in the middle of everything, facing each other with bright eyes and matching grins. Hardly anyone pays them any mind; they are just two fools, blocking the walkway. Easily, without further thought, Anakin draws Obi-Wan into a slow, soft kiss, for all to see. Because they can. Because they have both made their choice. Because they are so full of light and life, and tomorrow is there to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to play with the formatting and the structure of a story and also to try something a little different with this non-linear tale. I wondered what would happen if Obi-Wan and Anakin really were having a secret relationship that was revealed to the whole galaxy - what would be the consequences for them? Lot's of angst to be sure, but I just had to give them a happy ending too - although I left the ending open enough that every reader can interpret it how they like :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [takdir.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27797824) by [silameninggal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silameninggal/pseuds/silameninggal)




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